


Roads Diverged

by slitheringDeath



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: reborn!oc, this is gonna be confusing at first but i promise it makes sense, tw: mental health issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-02-21 22:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22304974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slitheringDeath/pseuds/slitheringDeath
Summary: Suthay Khajiit are born under New Masser and New Secunda.A Suthay born on 1st of Morning Star gets too many new starts.Set in 5E 404, after the great Dragonborn is lost and not found.Reborn!OC, may fall into the realm of crack at times.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

_This is just me writing to get my writing bug out. I’m not a professional, or even an amateur writer. I only own my original characters._

  
~

No tunnel to gates of white, no warmth at the end of the darkness. Only another life. Tired eyes opened up to see bones- antlers, ribcage, skull. Breath entered sore lungs that screamed for oxygen, hacking coughs following the crisp Nordic air. Sitting up, one would see the body of a female, clad in animal skins, feathers, horns and cordage. A wider observation of the area showed more bloodshed; slaughtered natives left and right, obviously looted as well. Delicate pawed feet slid to the side of the altar, knocking over a pretty purple gem and shattering it on the ground. A faint whisper of breeze carried its memory away. 

Left shivering in the partially-thawed forest, a young dark Khajiit girl stood stark naked at the top of a redoubt, arms clutched close to her bosom. Pupils full-moon with terror, tears pooling and threatening to fall. Her breath fanned out in front of her face, floating away into crisp air. Her ears swiveled around on their own accord, straining to hear any approaching danger. She could already feel the cold setting into her bones, even though consciousness found her only moments before. Joints creaked upon movement.

Upon hearing naught but birdsong, the Khajiit girl craned her head around and assessed her situation; she could strip bodies for clothing, and from the scents assaulting her senses, there was a campfire nearby which may mean food. Looking down at the corpse at her feet, her lip curled in instinctive revulsion. The body seemed to be several hours old, blood crusting around a nasty wound on her stomach. These clothes were ruined. 

The Khajiit girl began to slowly pick her way down from the altar, stepping over body after body. Items came along; a pair of hide boots, a rusted iron dagger, a slightly-too-long peasant’s green dress hidden away in a chest, all blessedly free from blood. These items were hastily donned, first the dress, which hung down low enough to brush the ground. The thin cloth didn't do much to stave off the cold, but it would do for now. Oversized hide boots made for humans barely fit on the Khajiit, her feet arching the wrong way for the flat human boots. Dagger strung around the waist. 

Picking her way down the steep hill, she rounded a bend and lo and behold- found more bodies. But this time, they were gathered around a firepit with a food preparation table behind it. The Khajiit took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling herself to ignore the copper smell of blood, then made a beeline for a row of tables piled with fruits, meats, and other assorted items, only minorly looted. The feline fell upon it with gusto, tearing into a cooked chunk of meat with little restraint. Within moments the bone within was clean and discarded, clawed hands reaching for another. Food filled the void in which nothing else could. 

After filling her belly until slightly bulging, the girl made use of a knapsack laying on the table, stuffing it with cured meats at the bottom, fresh produce at the top. A few salt piles here and there as well. Another quick scavenge of the area produced one singular blanket with no blood or Questionable Stains on it, a small tinder kit in an Apothecary’s satchel, and a couple bottles of mead. The Khajiit debated leaving the alcohol behind, but then a niggling feeling spurred her to take them. Alcoholic is usually safe to drink; who knows if she’d get sick drinking from a stream. Each item made its way into the backpack, except the blanket. The sun was waning in the sky, and little Khajiit did not want to be caught in the forest in the dark. With that decision made, she went about finding the cleanest area and cleanest tent. The shadows had stretched ever longer, and daylight was fading fast. 

A pile of crates and an extra tent skin draped over one end to seal the back end of the tent, front pointed at a crackling fire. The Khajiit hunkered down on the bedroll, pulling her blanket close, and settled to wait out the night.

~

Morning bit hard and cold. Muscles convulsing uncontrollably to keep warmth, the Khajiiti girl lifted her head from her bedroll. Fitful sleep left her groggy, eyes glazed with sleep staring out into the misty morning cold. The fog hanging low to the ground drifted lazily across limp bodies, soon dissipating in the weak sunlight that streamed over the pale mountains. Sharp amber orbs watched tendrils of steam rise from the frosted ground, warm light burning away thin frost. With only a few fitful winks of sleep stolen from the nightmares, the Khajiit unfolded herself from the fetal position she shivered in for most of the night. Cracks, creaks, and pops followed each movement of a joint; 

_Great,_ she thought, _of course I have joint problems in this life as well._

Rising from the bedroll, blanket clutched firmly around her shoulders, the Khajiit went about gathering wood for a fire. Within a half hour, she was sitting on a stool, roasting a haunch over the flames. Goodness, the natives sure did leave a lot of food out. After eating her fill of breakfast at the tables, the Khajiit hastily packed up her scavenged belongings and set out on the faint path leading down the valley from the redoubt. Nothing behind her but corpses and questions.

~

Many tiring hours went by as she picked her way through the thawing forest. At one point she came upon another ancient structure, but it was easy to avoid for the amount of noise the bandits within made. That place was at least twenty minutes’ walk behind her, but the prickly feeling of danger still tinged the back of her senses. 

She swallowed thickly, trying to wet her cold-parched throat. Gazing up into the sky for a brief moment, noting that on the other side of a nasty-looking ridge a faint trail of smoke wafted through the air, and that the sun was dipping to the horizon once more. So, there was civilization, but far enough away that one may freeze before reaching them. She reached her hand up and rubbed her face, contemplating for one moment. She could keep following this vaguely-established path, or attempt to follow the smoke directly and maybe scale down some rock faces. Ill fitting boots and rocks? _Nah._

Decision made, she re-traced her steps to the path and continued on her way. Her feet were warm in her makeshift boots and the dress kept the gentle breeze from caressing her fur. She had a good bit of food, and a way to protect herself. All she needed was some shelter. 

She brushed past some low-lying branches to find herself on.... one would guess you could call it a paved road. A glance up the extremely steep ‘road,’ a glance down. Instinct says down, water runs downhill and she was starting to feel mighty thirsty from the cold, brisk air. Nor did she want to break into that mead any time soon; a clear head is a conscious head.

With that decision, she continued downwards. Must find water, suitable shelter. The chill of early eve was starting to set in and she knew she needed fire, or else she would perish in the frigid night.

Many minutes and steps went by. She kept her eyes trained on the road ahead, ears listening for danger. A faint crackling noise to her left off the paved path piqued her curiosity. A deep inhale of the crisp air revealed the warm, inviting smell of wood smoke. Reminders of home, of childhood. Weighing out her options, she thought it may be worth checking out; it wouldn't hurt to see if there was a friendly face in this half-frozen forest. 

With that decision in mind, she plodded off the beaten path. About one-hundred feet from the road, obscured by trees and a birm of earth, was a fire. There was a masculine figure, clad in strange clothing and a bow upon their back, sitting on a stump beside the fire. The strangest thing about said figure was his bared head, which was a sickly dusky blue in the weak sunlight. It had been shaved clean, save for a small crest of red hair upon his scalp. Dark tattoos swirled across dusky skin. Distracted so with examining this humanoid creature, the young Khajiit did not at first notice that she was being watched right back with bright, otherworldly red eyes. 

“Yes, Outlander?” A deep, gravely brogue slipped from the dark man’s lips, his hand resting on his hip, presumedly upon a dagger. 

“A-ah, excuse this one’s manners,” The Khajiit managed to cough up after a moments’ pause. Her voice wasn’t nearly as gravelly as most Khajiit, and she figured she would stand out less if she used normal Khajiit talking conventions. “This one is lost and seeking civilization, and possibly shelter. Would one be so kind as to assist, Ser…?” She trailed off, fishing for the stranger’s name. She purposefully shifted her hands so they were in his full view, so he could see she carried no weapon at the ready. 

He regarded her for a moment, then supplied rather simply, “I am Telran, of Solitude. Who are you?”

 _Ah, like I thought. I’m in Skyrim._ A beat pause, then, “This one is named Rho’Jita. This one hails from the land of head injury.” *****

That teased a corner of the dark man’s lips up. “Can’t remember, or don’t want to tell?” He queried, motioning to a felled tree on the other side of his camp fire, inviting her to sit. The newly named Rho’Jita removed her pack from her shoulders and set it beside the log before sitting down, and gracing her host with a response, 

“This one truly does not remember. Woke up with a migraine in the middle of the wood not long ago.” She murmured, looking down and away; it felt bad for her to be lying, but one figured that hearing their guest came from a nest of slaughtered Forsworn may not be comforting. Telran’s face betrayed no inkling to what he was thinking. 

“Well, I can say now, you don’t really sound like any Khajiit I’ve ever known, nor have I known another with your particular accent. How hard did you say you hit your head?” Telryn finished his sentence with a chuckle. He gazed into the fire and at Rho’Jita alternatingly for a moment, then poked at the fire with a stick by his side. 

Rho’Jita leveled off a deadpan stare at the dusky man. “I did not mention.” She said in a slightly clipped tone. Her head still hurt, and talking vaguely Khajiit-like wasn’t making her migraine any better. “This one remembers naught but the past…eh, let us say thirty-six hours. This one awoke in a most unfavorable place and felt needed to seek civilization, for the preservation of one’s own life. Now, may Rho’Jita ask questions of Ser Telran of Solitude?” The Dunmer made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand. “Would Ser Telran currently be heading in the direction of any major cities in this lovely land?”

“I’m headin’ to Dragon Bridge, then back to Solitude. Got some business to take care of at the bridge. If you’re wanting to travel with me there, feel free, but I’m not lookin’ after you.” Telran supplied this information as he fed another stick to the fire. A branch popped and crackled as a pocket of moisture boiled away.

“This one is most grateful, Ser Telran.” Rho’Jita’s face lit up in a smile, an ache she didn’t notice was there suddenly gone. The ache of loneliness. “It is a relief to this one’s heart to see a friendly face in the wood. You have this one’s word she will not bother you on your trip.”

"Just Telran," Telran grunted his acknowledgement, then drew his knapsack close and retrieved a medium leaf-wrapped parcel, which he quickly unbundled to reveal raw, red meat. The Dunmer picked up a flat rock beside him and placed the meat on it, dividing it into four equal chunks. He then placed the chunks on another flat rock, nearly in the fire. Scents of greasy, cooking meat wafted into the air immediately. “I don’t have any spices, so this bear meat won’t be too appetizing, but it’s food.” He spoke quietly. It was Rho’Jita’s turn to dig through her knapsack, and brought out the pouch of salt she acquired from the Forsworn. Totally blood free, promise. She held it out to Telran, who took it wordlessly, but with a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Dinner passed with no other conversation, other than to discuss sleeping arrangements. For tonight, Rho’Jita would sleep between the log and the fire while Telran stayed in his lean-to. Rho’Jita could respect Telran’s need for personal space with a near-complete stranger, but having a warm body to curl up to would be nice. Didn’t hurt that the Dunmer was actually rather handsome. Rho’Jita quickly gathered some semi-dry pine boughs and spread them in a thick layer on the ground, then dug her blanket out of her knapsack. Using the sack as a pillow, she wrapped herself up as tight as she could and prepared to wait out another cold night in the wilderness.

The only thing keeping her horrendous loneliness away was every few minutes, Telran’s heavy sleep breathing was punctuated by a bit of a snore.

~

_*Note: Rho’Jita is pronounced Ro-gee-ta._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they travel to the bridge.

_ Rojita, or Rogie, was the name of a beautiful black cat I had when I was a kid. She had a torn ear, golden-amber eyes, and she was definitely a wild lady. She was the inspiration for my Khajiit. I only own Rho'jita and Telran, the rest is due to Bethesda. _

* * *

Shivering flesh and chattering teeth are what greeted Rho’jita’s senses as her eyes cracked open to the weak sunlight filtering through the pines. The fire was burning weakly a few feet away from the cat, the warmth not reaching Rho’jita for how small it was. Telran, dark hair mussed with sleep, sat across the fire, preparing more of the bear meat for breakfast, Rho’jita’s salt pouch resting on his knee. A pot of snow was melting beside the fire. Cherry red eyes looked up from their task, boring into slitted amber orbs.

“Good morn.” The Dunmer’s voice was gruff with sleep. “Planning on heading out in an hour or so. Eat then run.” Rho’jita replied with a wide feline yawn and a nod. She rose from her bedroll, each movement bringing a different creak, pop, or crack. Telran made a face at each noise, and when Rho’jita had fully risen, he asked, “What in the Eight is wrong with you?”

Rho’jita shrugged her shoulders, the motion earning her another pop, she picked her knapsack up to rifle through it. She passed a red apple to Telran and bit into a green one for herself. After chewing and swallowing her bite, she simply supplied, “This one has joint problems. Cold exacerbates it.”

“I’ll say,” Telran murmured with a raised eyebrow. He had his apple gone quickly, tending to the sizzling bear meat. As Rho’jita munched on her apple, a familiar feeling of slimy anxiety crept in and pooled in the bottom of her stomach. The silence that stretched between them only made it worse.

“So, Ser Telran, are you a hunter?” Rho’jita queried, looking for anything to fill the silence. She wasn’t one for quiet in any form; for with no distraction comes self-reflection, and self-reflection led to madness. Rho’jita never liked to think too deep; peering into her own fractured mind terrified the Khajiit. 

“Sort of,” Telran grunted, “I like to hunt, but it’s not my profession. I’m a peddler; I buy and sell trinkets, goods, baubles, and such. If an animal comes across my path, often their skins and antlers are added to my wares.” 

“Telran has wares if one has coin,” Rho’jita snickered to herself. Telran simply looked confused. At that moment, he pulled the bear meat from the fire and handed Rho’jita her wooden skewer of sizzling, salty meat. Rho’jita tore into it with gusto, the greasy meat melting in her mouth. She didn’t mind the heat, as hunger overrode her desire to not burn her tongue. “Oh, this is good.” She purred in appreciation. A chuckle escaped from Telran, to which Rho’jita raised a brow.

“Never thought it’d be my cooking that got a Khajiit to purr.” He joked, a charismatic smile flashing across his admittedly handsome face, gone as fast as it was there. For a Dunmer, he really wasn’t too bad looking when he smiled. Rho’jita giggled at his joke, hiding her mouth behind a ha- paw- HAND. Distant memories of filthy Nords telling her to keep her ‘paws’ to herself. She frowned for a moment, then resumed eating her surprisingly delicious meal, and tried to forget the memory. 

The pair were done in a few minutes, after which Telran announced that he was packing up camp. Rho’jita followed suit and packed up her meager belongings, shoving them back into her knapsack haphazardly, fingers numb from cold. She flexed her hands, extending and sheathing her claws, attempting to move warmth back into her digits. She supposed that now, her hands did look more paw-like. Slightly bigger pawpads than what she last…remembered…

“Khajiit!” An  _ extremely _ loud shout from her right side. A strike to the back of her shoulder; not hard, but hard enough to shake Rho’jita out of her trance. She stumbled slightly, feeling a bit dazed as the ringing in her ears subsided. 

“Apologies,” She croaked out, righting herself with the slowness of a decrepit. “This one takes a while to fully wake up sometimes. It will not happen again.”  _ That was a weak excuse.  _

Telran’s expression was unreadable; arms crossed, but his left hand was dipped towards his hip, resting on a glint of metal. “...Whatever. Just, keep to yourself and don’t walk too close behind me.” With that declaration, he set off down the barely-paved path. Rho’jita shouldered her knapsack and scrambled a little to catch up; her short legs were definitely going to be getting a good workout, keeping up with the long-legged Dunmer. The two were traveling for about 15 minutes before Rho’jita started humming. What surprised Telran was that her humming sounded smooth, unlike most Khajiits he had met. He once even met a Khajiit bard, whom he  _ promptly _ paid 10 Septims to play something without lyrics.

“What is that tune you are humming?” Telran finally asked after she hummed a few bars, looking back over his shoulder to see the Khajiit following about eight feet behind him. Her expression was of surprise, perhaps of being asked said question.

“Ehm…. It is a silly tune, one I do not remember the origins of.” She supplied. “I know some of the lyrics, if one wishes to hear them.” 

Telran contemplated her words for a moment, thinking of the Khajiit bard. He was male, after all, and perhaps the females had prettier voices. “Yes, I would like to, if you don’t mind.” 

The dark Khajiit girl cleared her throat a couple of times while shuffling her feet a bit, swallowed, and then began to sing in a clear, projected voice,

“ _ Start your day with a song, and sing the whole day thru’, even while you’re busy workin’, do just like the birdies do!  _

_ Tho’ the day may be long, you never will go wrong; low key, high key, any old key, just start your day with a song! _ ” *

Telran watched with interest, and clapped for the Khajiit once she finished. “I must say, you did better than I expected. Now, I’ve heard many a’ bard since the College is in Solitude, and I must ask. Have you been trained?” He queried.

“No, this one just enjoys singing to the utmost heights.” Rho’jita beamed back at him, happy that she could repay Telran for his kindness with entertainment.

“I will commend you then, for you have the most wonderful Khajiiti voice I have heard.” Telran said as he turned around and began his descent again. Rho’jita flushed red underneath her dark fur and smiled shyly. After that, their journey to Dragon Bridge was filled with hummed tunes and singing, occasionally with Telran joining in on songs that he knew; he had picked up some singing lessons in Solitude when he was a teen. 

Their shared camaraderie extended until their arrival at the Four Shields tavern in Dragon Bridge. Immediately, Telran broke away from her and announced with arms spread open, “Telran the trader is here! Come one, come all to see my various trinkets! As always, I will buy your trinkets too! I shall be in my usual corner.” As he finished his sentence, he retreated to- what Rho’jita presumed- was his normal corner.

Rho’jita parted from the Dunmer with a smile and a quick incline of the head. She headed straight for Faida, whom Telran informed was the matriarch of the tavern. The Khajiit was intent on selling her wares to purchase a more fitting set of clothes. The Nord woman regarded her with curiosity as she approached the counter, called out a greeting.

“Hail, traveler. I’ve not seen your face around, but if you’re traveling with telran, you must be of an alright sort.” Her smile betrayed the kindness behind her words; if you’re friends of a friend, you’re a friend.

“This one’s name is Rho’jita, and Telran seems to be cut from a fine cloth. This one seeks to sell some of her spoils to receive more….appropriate attire, yes?” Rho’jita unslung her knapsack, and fished out her items a few salt piles, several bottles of mead, and a few pieces of produce. After a few minutes of haggling and bargaining with the Nord hostess, Rho’jita ended up with a slightly more fitting blue woolen dress, and 20 septims. Happy with her purchase, Rho’jita stepped off into an offered side room to change into her new attire. Once changed, her old green dress was sold for an additional 10 septims. Apparently it was a nice dress, but Rho’jita cared naught, for it did not fit her in the least. She ordered herself a venison stew and a mild ale to sate her appetite. She sat herself off in the opposite corner of Telran.

In the time the dark Khajiit had traded with Faida, a considerable crowd had formed around the handsome Dunmer. Children begging for sweets, parents buying odds-and-ends, the more wealthy of the populace giving in to the begging children. Sticky sweet buns were provided to each small grabbing hand. Telran’s eye twinkled as septim after septim exchanged hands. Rho’jita ate her meal in relative peace as she observed the town barter with the dark mer. After a short while, her belly was full, as was the Dunmer’s pockets. The flow of customers ceased several minutes prior, and the Dunmer packed up his various trinkets and wandered his way to the dark Khajiit.

“I’ll be out doing the aforementioned business at the bridge, so if you would still like to accompany me to Solitude, meet me back here by mid-day.” The Dunmer mer informed her. Rho’jita nodded mutely, not finding the desire to speak inside her. Telran nodded to her, then departed from the inn. 

Rho’jita settled herself into a chair near the hearth, enjoying the warmth seeping into her weary bones. Walking in ill-fitting boots for any amount of distance will put a limp in any man’s step. Speaking of boots, Rho’jita unwound her oddly-laced hide boots to reveal her odd feet; structured like a “normal” cats, she stood only on the ball and toes of her feet. Distantly her mind reminded her of the word, “digitigrade”. She stretched her toes out over the fire to work some heat back into her poor pads.

“Hey, who let the stray cat in here?” A loud, boisterous voice erupted from the doorway. A large man in metal armor stood there, a woodsman’s axe fastened to his hip. Rho’jita clenched her teeth to restrain herself from speaking. 

“Leave my paying customers alone, Horgeir,” Called out Faida from behind her counter. Horgeir waltzed his way into the establishment, leaving the front door ajar slightly. A grizzled old man near the entrance grumbled as he had to stand to close the draft. Rho’jita turned her head towards the fire, bent on ignoring the racist Nord’s comment. 

“Only for you and a pint of ale, Lovely Faida.” Horgeir slurred, obviously already a few drinks in for the day. He leaned up against the counter, and Faida slid him a full tankard of mead. In a few short minutes, Horgeir had downed several pints plus of the honeyed concoction. Rho’jita made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat; being so impaired this early in the day? No thank you. Of course, Faida was enabling his behavior. She served him for as long as he had coin to spend. 

After lacing her awkward boots onto her feet and shouldering her knapsack, Rho’jita excused herself from the tavern, distancing herself from the wooden structure, and the increasingly drunken populace. She sat herself on a stump near the outskirts of the town, inhaling the pleasant late-winter air. She mused for a moment,  _ I don’t know what day it is, or what month. I’m sure I’m past my birthday. _ She watched a young boy escort a goat every which way, seeming to make a game from following the grazing creature. Rho’jita was suddenly aware of footsteps behind her, then a voice,

“Aki’la?” Was the queried word. Rho’jita’s head immediately began to throb as she turned her head towards the one who disturbed her peace. Before she could answer the young woman behind her, the Breton gal backpedaled and said, “S-sorry, you looked like a friend of mine who went missing from behind. Apologies for disturbing you.” The girl was gone faster than Rho’jita could process, and her head wheeled with pain. Flashes of memory appeared to her, jumbling her thoughts. She rested her head in her hands, staring straight at the ground. Her chest heaved as she fought for breath, fractured thoughts- a face here, a voice there, a dragon?- sped through her mind. Her ears rung, her eyes stung, her head felt like a mammoth was crushing it. She squeezed her eyes shut and fisted her hands in the scruff of fur on top of her head. 

In a haze, she rocked herself to and fro, a motion to try to calm herself. A fragmented memory from years, decades, lifetimes away, whispering to her,  _ I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. ** _

Repeated was that phrase over and over again, like a mantra, filling her head with only that. Slowly, her breathing evened out, her hands unclenched from her hair, the ringing in her ears subsided. She gazed at the ground for an indeterminate amount of time, filling her head with that sentence alone. Just when Rho’jita looked up from her little episode, Telran waltzed his way over. She flashed him a brief smile, internally hoping the mer’s presence would help take the crushing weight of anxiety off her chest. 

“I’m done with my business, and I’m assuming you are as well.” His gravelly voice filled the silence the Khajiit so desperately wanted to end. Her mind quieted from its mantra, shifting to focus on the task at hand. Rho’jita nodded and stood up, shouldering her knapsack. She noted that Telran’s backpack seemed the same size, even though she saw him peddle many things to the villagers. Perhaps he bought some supplies as well. “I guess we will be on our way, then. To Solitude, where I can get some solitude.” That last part was grumbled, but not in an ill-tempered way. Rho’jita giggled quietly and followed in the tall mer’s footsteps, onwards towards Solitude.

* * *

_* This tune is from the Famous Studios Screen Songs intro. If you'd like to hear it, look up Helter Swelter - Good Old Summertime Screen Song on Youtube. There are some other screen songs, but Helter Swelter is the least 1950's Racist of them.  
_ _**Thank you, Dune and Frank Herbert, for my inner panic mantra. Legit, it helps so much when I get into bad panic attacks._

_Please don't forget to drop a comment on what you thought of this chapter! :) Thanks for reading._


	3. Chapter 3

_ This one is sorta in Telran’s perspective, as he tries to understand Rho’jita. I’m not good at keeping a straight perspective. :B _ _   
_ _ If it is of no inconvenience to the reader, would one mind giving this Khajiit a review? _ _   
_ _ Thanks and shoutout to MightyTom for watching and favoriting on FF! Also to Zyrianna for giving Kudos on Ao3!  _

_ If you look at the bottom of this chapter, you'll see a drawing of Rho'jita that I did! :)  _

_ I only own my OCs, and my words.  _

Walking up the cobbled road to Solitude was filled with silence. Telran did not supply conversation, only throwing the dark Khajiit questioning and worried looks, while Rho’jita was lost in thought. The strain of trying to call memories forth, trying to remember who she was, was starting to give her a headache, and she was rubbing at her eyes every so often to alleviate the stabbing pain throbbing behind them. Occasionally she would wander to the side of the road to pick some flowers and shove them in her backpack, taking advantage of the early Spring bloom.

Telran had noticed that the Khajiit girl seemed to be having some sort of panic attack when he approached her at Dragon Bridge, but the second he was near her she brought herself back together as if nothing was wrong. The control of, or maybe the lack thereof, her emotions was unsettling to the Elf, who had many years behind him to train his expressions according to the situation. 

His common sense was screaming to distance himself from this insane cat, but his sense of righteousness was telling him that, at the very least, he needed to get her to a safe city. And so, the wandering traveler led the stray kitten to the city. 

Telran, upon catching sight of the Guards’s tower outside of Solitude, stepped closer to the wandering Khajiit. “We should be arriving at Solitude's gates in no less than ten minutes’ time. If you are okay with it, that is where I shall leave you.” 

Rho’jita looked up and over at him, startled from her thought process. She considered his words for a moment, then nodded, “Yes, that is fine. This one thanks Telran for his patience and his guiding on this one’s journey.” She supplied a smile to the dark Elf, but it did not quite reach her eyes. 

The Dunmer smiled back to her and accepted her thanks, still quite perplexed over the character of this girl. She had not supplied much information about herself, barely seemed to know how to interact with other intelligent beings. More often than naught Telran watched the Khajiit stumble over obvious obstacles and barely notice, for she was so deep in thought. She already scraped her knees and shins a handful of times from tripping over roots and rocks.

Thoughts of the Daedric prince of Madness crossed his musings; maybe she was an agent of Sheogorath, the seed of insanity planted to cause chaos in the Queen city of Skyrim, or even a disciple of Vaermina…After all, he did have troubled sleep last night with the dark feline so close. With similar troubling ideas plaguing his thoughts, he decided that it may be a better idea to keep tabs on the black beast-woman. 

“Actually, if you wanted to, I have a bed reserved for me at the Bard’s College; you have a wonderful singing voice, maybe you could earn your keep there?” Telran suggested, before his common sense weighed out his generosity. Rho’jita’s amber gaze drifted to him, and he marveled for a moment at how her eyes seemed so full of color, and yet the expression behind them was blank and dead. Her coffin gaze turned calculating for a moment before softening,

“That is an extremely generous offer, Telran… If it is of no hide from your back, this one would like to accept your offer.” Rho’jita began tentatively, wringing her hands together, “But… Rho’jita has nothing to return Telran’s kindness with, other than the provisions upon this one’s back.”

Telran scoffed loudly. “No, no, I’m not offering to gain anything, or have you become indebted to me. I’m offering because you seem out of your element, and you could use someone to vouch for you in Solitude. In short, you’re pitiful.” Telran replied matter-of-factly, but not unkindly. “I grew up in this town, mention my name and most anyone will treat you friendly-like.”

For the first time since he had met the pitch-black Khajiit on the mountain yesterday, Telran saw the guarded look disappear from her eyes, and a wide smile split her features. She thanked him profusely as they continued on their trek, the land starting to slope back up to the city. They passed the first tower, the local carriage driver engaged in a heated discussion with the guard on-duty. The traveling pair gave the arguing Nords a wide berth, both for privacy and sanity. 

The pair passed the first wall, and Rho’jita gave a very strange look at a grown-in flat spot on the earth. Telran recognized it as the old Khajiit caravan space, and elaborated for the confused girl, “Ever since the Dragonborn was found to be Khajiit three years ago, your kind are welcome in almost every city in Skyrim. I am still not sure about Windhelm, but that’s because I don’t go there. That city is full of racists.” The last words were spoken sourly, and Telran’s expression looked like he had just taken a large swig of curdled milk.

With his words, Rho’jita gained a far-off look in her eyes, as if remembering a distant memory for a few moments, then scowled  _ almost _ frighteningly. As if such a cute fluffy face could be scary. “This one knows full well the cruelty of racists.” Her hand raised up to ghost over the deep Vee notch in her left ear. “However, Rho’jita is very glad to hear that my people are being treated fairer.”

Telran’s ruby gaze trailed her hand, examining the scarred flesh, a dull throbbing appearing in his own ear at the imagined pain. He averted his eyes before Rho’jita could see him gawking.

The Khajiit continued with her strange gaze towards the spot, then asked, “Telran says that this is a  _ long _ disused spot, yes?” She stressed the duration of time. This confused the Elf. 

“...Yes, that is what I said.” He drawled, brows furrowing, watching as the inky furball got down on all fours and  _ scuttled _ across the ground, paws poking and testing each patch of soil. Telran could hear her murmuring to herself, but could not make out the words. The Dunmer contemplated on waiting, or continuing walking like he never knew the crazy cat.

“I know it’s here…A-ha!” A cry of triumph erupted from the Khajiit as her claw caught under a latch. Prying open the secret chest buried just under the peat, Rho’jita was graced with a sight for sore eyes. “This is how Rho’jita will repay Telran!” 

The mentioned Elf was still standing in the middle of the road, watching her. At the cry and mention of his name, he strode over, his long legs making quick work of the distance. “What have you found there?” He questioned.

Rho’jita already had her backpack off and was shoving various odds and ends-  _ valuable _ things- into her pack. Telran watched her pick up two unmistakable purple bottles, waiting to see what she would do with the Skooma. She immediately hucked them off the cliffside in front of her, waiting until she heard the telltale sound of glass breaking. Telran released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. The Khajiit looked up at the Dunmer with a shit-eating grin on her face, paws already plunging back into the earth.

“This one’s only vice is a bottle of mead and some cheese and crackers, friend.” Rho’jita supplied as she finished looting the obviously forgotten stash. Telran couldn’t really say anything about the looting, he had ransacked more random chests he found in his travels than he thought this scrawny Khajiit had. 

“I am glad. I am not going to ask you how you knew about this, but it seems you are now set.” Telran said, chuckling at the Khajiit who attempted to heave her now bulging and heavy backpack off the ground. His chuckle was cut short as  _ at least _ five various pops, cracks, and crunches emanated from the Khajiit’s various joints. Her backpack was upon her shoulders, a pained expression blooming over her features as she rotated the shoulder she used to heave.

“Do not worry, that is normal.” Rho’jita brushed it off, the pained expression just a memory of the past, and whisked past Telran towards the main gates. “What are you waiting for? Come on, I want to see Solitude and pawn off some of these things.”  
The Dunmer was doing an excellent impression of a River Betty, stunned to speechlessness at her casual brush off. The sound of those pops made _his_ joints hurt. With a few long strides, the dark Elf easily caught up to the dark Khajiit. What a pair they made walking up the half-cobbled road to Solitude. 

A few short minutes and a greeting to the front guards left Telran watching Rho’jita spin around in place, a genuinely joyful expression on her fuzzy face as she beheld the bright festival decor that lay scattered around the main square. 

It was the 27th of Rain’s Hand, and tomorrow was Jester’s Day. Every scrap of bright cloth that could be spared was adorning each and every building throughout the Queen city of Skyrim. Telran swelled with pride for his home as he watched the Khajiit regard everything with an almost child-like wonder. 

“Is it always so bright here?” The Khajiit queried as she finished her loop of the main square, returning to Telran, who had taken up post leaning against the Winking Skeever. 

“Erh, not usually,” Telran began, shoving off of the cold stone wall and heading into the establishment he had leaned upon, “Tomorrow is Jester’s Day, and the town is preparing for the festivities. There will be food, games, a parade, many things one such as yourself may enjoy.” He didn’t say this unkindly. 

“Aah, Rho’jita will have to make sure she has proper coinage for such an event.” She replied, following at the dark Elf’s heels. Into the Winking Skeever the pair went, and within moments their presence was noticed.

“Ey! If it ain’t ol’ dirty knife-ears, come crawling back!” Came a booming voice from behind the bar. The barkeep was a stocky Imperial of the rather rugged persuasion, if any man in this land could count as anything but. Rho’jita froze, staring at her dusky companion, waiting to gauge his reaction to the blatant racism.

“Of course, crawling back to my Imperial Overlord. How are you doing, Corpulus?” Telran answered without missing a beat, striding forth and taking a seat at the bar. He patted the stool beside him, and Rho’jita obediently followed command, settling her weary wandering bones on the hardwood. The confusion must have been evident upon her face, for Telran leaned over and offered a short murmured explanation, “Corpulus is my adopted father.” To which the dark Khajiit nodded.

“I’ve been better, been worse. Sorex destroyed a whole cask of Old Gold 200 three nights ago and is still cleaning up the sticky disaster.” Corpulus answered as his busy hands worked their trade, fetching a bowl of stew and a tankard of mead for the weary travelers. From the grin on his face, the product destruction was worth the lesson taught to his blood son. 

Telran cracked a smile at his father, chuckling to himself. “What was he doing to knock over a cask? Your timbers are some of the sturdiest around.” He asked, already digging into the hearty lamb stew. Rho’jita’s cheeks were bulging with food, a groan of appreciation deep in her throat. 

“The poor sod had managed to get that gal Vivienne he’s chasing down into the storeroom for some tasting, got too tipsy, rockbrains managed to dislodge a leg and...” Corpulus finished his sentence with a shrug. Telran responded with a worn smile and a shake of his head. 

Rho’jita’s stew and tankard were gone long before Telran’s, and he was starting to get annoyed at her constant fidgeting. “The general store is just across the way, if you’d like to go pawn off some of your spoils.” The dark Elf suggested. She nodded quickly, not even offering a goodbye as she sped out of the door. Telran shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with that cat.


End file.
